What do I Mean to You?
by loveroftacobell
Summary: Sam Puckett's story after ICarly ends. No meeting Sam and Cat in this story. Sam/Freddie maybe.


Sam Puckett.

I've often sat at night and thought what my name meant to others.

To Carly, it meant "my high school best friend."

To Spencer, it meant "my other little un-biological sister."

To Gibby, it meant "better run now, I'm about to get beat by the butter sock."

Luckily for me, these people somehow found their way into my life. Without them, I would most likely be in jail or dead on the side of the street somewhere. Now, I know I'm getting a little too soft. But they were my family; my home was with them.

Unfortunately, when we graduated high school, I knew it was time to move on. I couldn't continue to leech onto their giving, caring ways forever. It was time to fend for myself, without relying on others for happiness. As soon as Spencer offered me that motorcycle, I bounced. I didn't feel like burdening their lives anymore, standing in the way of future relationships.

…as in Carly and Freddie. I know they kissed.

Somehow, along the way of high school I had fallen for the nerd. His floppy brown hair, the deep, sensible brown eyes, his becoming muscular body, and the way he became one of my best friends contributed to my awkward crush. I finally got up the nerve to kiss him that night at the lock-in, and everything was going great until Carly's words got into my head. And when Freddie acknowledged what she had said (which of course he was going to agree with Carly, he always does) I knew I never stood a chance with him as long as my best friend was in the picture.

So, that was that. It ended before it started, but I did enjoy the time I had with him. He was a fantastic boyfriend. Sure, he made me go to a few stupid nerd hang-outs where everyone was so geeky I wanted to whack them all upside the head, but truthfully that was the only negative side to the relationship. His nerdy, intelligent, calm personality complemented my crazy, spontaneous self and really brought balance into my life. Yet no one else saw that. All anyone saw was my bullying-ass and his nerdy-ass and just thought "How the hell could they be together? They have nothing in common."

But I knew. I felt it.

I still feel it.

After I left Seattle, I stumbled into L.A, where you know there's parties galore. Everywhere I looked, the night life was popping. I never really had the chance to party, since Carly was a good girl, Freddie was a nerd, and Gibby was just…uncool. My mom said L.A was a lit place to forget your worries and leave your responsibilities behind, so I just decided to YOLO it and take my mother's advice for once.

Oh, and it was lit. LIT-erally lit.

Every night, I was smoking weed out in the alleys with some washed up surfers and high school drop-outs. The weed helped chill me out, make new friends, and best of all; forget Freddie. Sure, I wasn't doing anything real productive with my life. I was doing everything Carly never wanted me to do; sell and partake in drugs. But somehow, I was okay with it. It's not like they knew what I was up to (I had to get rid of my IPhone and get one of those pay as you call so it's not tracked.) Weeks and months passed by, and I hadn't heard from any of the old ICarly gang. By my nineteenth birthday, I had my own apartment and was growing and selling my own tree to high school and college students who needed it, just like I did. The drug business got me a lot of money, fast. It was just such an intense, pressing job that never seemed to end.

This fine August morning, I waked and baked with the sweetest OG Kush you could ever taste. The buzz came soon after a few bowls, and I could feel my eyes turn red and raw along with my body tingles. After I smoked, I went to start to make some spaghetti tacos (my favorite meal while high) and my laptop made a noise. Scared my laptop was possessed by the government, I slowly moved towards it with a knife in hand, ready to strike the camera lens in case they were watching my in-home drug garden. To my surprise, it was a facetime call (I had just set it up the night before) from…Fredward?

I stared blankly at the screen as it rang, rang, and rang again until it finally stopped.

My brain couldn't fathom the idea of this human trying to contact me, who has been off the charts for at least 2 years.

…maybe I shouldn't set up a new laptop while high because it may lead to using an old high school email. Fuck.

That night, I received another call from the same number. How and why was he trying to reach me? Was me dropping off the face of the Earth not good enough a hint I didn't want to be found? Especially by someone I tried so hard to bury?

…..

Sam Puckett.

To Freddie; I don't know what my name means to him. Maybe I should find out.


End file.
